House of Pleasure
by CaliforniaStop
Summary: Morgan and Custis's first time at the Golden Cat. Written for calyxofawildflower for Dishonored Secret Santa on Tumblr! Warnings inside.


_**A/N: **__Written for Dishonored Secret Santa on Tumblr. Contains mentions of sexual assault/harassment, general Pendletwins weirdness, misogyny, sexual violence, etc, etc._

* * *

Lord Pendleton fixed his eldest two sons with disapproving eyes, though neither twin felt shamed nor chastened as they stood before the empty hearth, side-by-side like a living reflection of one another. In fact, they felt rather pleased with themselves, which only further angered their father. "That's _another_ maid I've had to get rid of," the Pendleton patriarch sighed, shaking his head. He had grown rather weak and sickly in the last few months and, though he was determined to give the twins a stern lecture on their latest indiscretion and the consequences thereof, he should have been in bed. "Do _not_ smirk, Morgan."

Custis watched from the corner of eye as his brother forced his lips to a thin line, though a faint suggestion of arrogance still lingered in his eyes. Morgan stood with his hip slightly cocked, his head tilted to the side as though he were unable to carry it upright on his neck beneath the weight of his boredom; that errant lick of hair that refused to sit neatly against his scalp curled at his temple.

"Your behaviour as of late has been entirely indecorous," their father continued. "Do you think it appropriate to invite the _help_ into your beds?"

Custis looked to his brother again and Morgan met his eye, his cheek wrinkling with a faint curl of his lips. "We didn't exactly _invite_ them into our beds, Father," he drawled. It was Custis's turn to smirk: the maids and kitchen girls certainly had _not_ been invited into either of their beds; rather, they had been cornered in stairwells and pushed into closets and dragged into empty parlours, away from prying eyes and open ears. Custis had never exactly fucked any of the girls though, at Morgan's vehement insistence, he had made one kneel and suck his cock whilst he, grasping tightly at her hair, watched Morgan, draped over a sofa and grinning.

"Why should it matter, Father?" Custis sighed with a dismissive wave of his hand. "We're the _lords_ and they're the _servants_."

"It matters because I won't have my heirs _fucking_ their way through this house like two low-born _thugs_." Lord Pendleton closed his eyes, briefly, as a faint tremor wracked him. He swallowed, thickly, and continued: "You two are grown men now and, yes, _lords_. You shouldn't cavort with maids and kitchen girls. It is unbecoming." He sniffed tartly, raising his chin fractionally. "I think it's time you two took yourselves off to The Golden Cat. It has the finest reputation in Dunwall, perhaps even Gristol. _That_ is where well-born men take their pleasure from, _not_ the household staff."

"Why," Morgan said, brow furrowing, "would we _pay_ for something we can get for _free_ at home?"

"It is not a question of money," Lord Pendleton snapped, his voice growing reedy in his anger. "It is a question of you two _behaving_ like the young lords I raised you to be. It is a question of you two spending time with your peers outside of parliament. Believe me, business is not always conducted at a desk – you, Custis, in particular should remember that." He stood, then, taking up his ornate walking stick and leaning heavily upon it; beneath his fine embroidered dressing gown, his thin shoulders slumped. Neither twin moved to help him. "Besides, servants _talk_. In due time, you will _both_ learn the importance of keeping your private and public lives separate." He limped to the side-table and, one-handed, poured himself some wine from the glittering decanter. "Send Isobel in," he added.

The twins exchanged a knowing glance and, moving as one, turned and left. Isobel, their father's nurse, stood pressed against the wall a little way down the hall, as though to make herself as inconspicuous as possible. She looked up at the sound of the parlour door opening and slamming shut. Morgan pinned her down with predatory eyes and stalked towards her with Custis closely trailing him. "He wants you," Morgan drawled, caging her in with one hand braced against the wall. He smirked and leant in close to her. "When you're done with _him_ you should find me upstairs. _I've_ got something your _caring_ hands can tend to," he added, lashing out and seizing her wrist. She made no noise of protest or fear – she had been on the receiving end of Morgan's advances for at least a year now, and she knew that fighting him did not help her; instead, she responded with acquiescence and, when she could muster it, coy flirtation, which she knew he appreciated – and let him guide her hand to his groin. Her palm and fingers moulded around the familiar shape of his cock.

Custis, standing at his brother's side, caught her eye. He snarled.

"As you wish, Lord Pendleton," she said with a low dip of her head. She waited for Morgan to let go of her wrist and brushed past the pair of them with her arms pressed to her sides. Morgan pivoted on his heel and watched her go, and then he gave Custis a nudge with his elbow and said, "You should fuck her. She'll have had all three Pendleton men, then."

"I don't want to fuck _her_," Custis returned sharply. His hand slid to the small of Morgan's back, relishing the fine flex of muscles there. "Let's go to the Cat. I've heard from Shaw that they have _Serkonan whores_ there. "And," he added, his voice dropping to a low whisper, "since we're paying good money, they'll do _anything_ we want."

Morgan smiled with all his teeth.

* * *

The Golden Cat was, in the opinion of many, the most beautiful establishment in Dunwall (rivalled, perhaps, only by the blinding white façade of Dunwall Tower which rose to the sky like a long bone adorned with banners of bright blue and gold). Nestled in a fat curve of the Wrenhaven River, the bath house stood out from the jagged rooves of the surrounding buildings with its smooth, round shapes and luscious gardens, suggestive of the inviting sensations which were housed inside its walls. Its proximity to Holger Square and the Office of the Overseer left many of its patrons defiant under the scrutiny of the blue-coated men who breathed the Strictures beneath their hard, anonymizing masks.

A Watchman in a rough wool coat with rich red detail stepped up to their railcar as Morgan and Custis Pendleton arrived early in the evening. The pair glanced to the distinctive profile of the Cat; silhouettes moved across the windows which glowed with warm lights. Their footman swiftly opened the railcar door and waited for them to step out. Morgan did so first, grinning wolfishly, and Custis followed, feeling the weight of his fat money pouch at his hip.

"Good evening, m'lords," the Watchman said with a deferring nod.

Neither twin responded, except to offer a smug curl of their lips. They were dressed in their finest clothing – Tyvian silk shirts and waistcoats embroidered with gold thread and cravats set with jewelled pins as large as robins' eggs. Arms linked, they swaggered up the path to the large double doors. The cool night air was thick with the scent of perfume, the evening blooms having already opened full and heavy with their heady fragrance. Closer to the bath house, they could now hear laughter and music and squealing.

Inside, the Cat was even more luxurious than their peers' descriptions suggested. The air was laced with lingering traces of alcohol and incense. Long, low lounges upholstered in brocade were pressed against the walls, which were lacquered in rich scarlet and emerald green and warm peach. Overhead ornate chandeliers hung, casting those that milled around in mellow light. A staircase wound its way to the upper levels, a string of portraits dotting the curve of the wall. Large bronze sculptures – nude women, their bodies contorted as though in the throes of unimaginable pleasure – were tastefully scattered in styled disarray. To the side, another set of double doors opened and shut with the passage of clients and courtesans alike, giving teasing glimpses of the sumptuous rooms which lay beyond.

The twins were greeted first by a woman in a crinkled slip edged with lace, who offered them each a glass of rich Morley wine and a sultry, practiced smile, and then a well-dressed woman who introduced herself as Madame Celine. She was tall and slim and carried herself with surprising grace for someone so old; her bone-white hair was swept off her face and twisted in an elegant plait at the nape of her neck, and set with enamelled ornaments. She spread her beringed hands as though in benediction and smiled sweetly at the two young men. "My Lords Pendleton," she purred. She laughed as they exchanged a suspicious glance. "I recognize the dark, handsome features of your father. He has been one of our most beloved patrons, you know. I do hope he is well?"

"He's fine," Morgan replied, his eyes raking over the thin whores who lingered around the front counter, as though drawn to the promise of a moneyed client. Some of the girls smiled and tittered, their hips jutting forward, their hands pulling teasingly on the straps of their camisoles. He felt himself stirring at the sight of them, like a banquet laid out for his carnal gluttony. He drained his glass of wine and passed it to the attending whore's waiting hand.

"He won't be making any more trips to the Cat, we think," Custis elaborated with a small smirk. He tossed his head and took a languid sip of wine. "We're here at his suggestion."

"I'm _most_ pleased to hear that, my lords. Your father has very discerning taste and it seems to be a trait he wishes to cultivate in both of you," Celine said with a deferential bow of her head. "I do hope your first visit here will engender a lifelong love of our establishment."

"Oh, I think so," Morgan said, grinning. He arched his eyebrow pointedly and nudged Custis, who set his wine aside and reached for the money pouch at his hip.

Celine lifted a hand to halt him. "The account can be settled at the end, my lord. I don't believe in letting money overshadow the experience." She gestured elegantly and said, "Let's discuss what you'd like in the next room, shall we?" She led them to a smaller parlour layered in verdant furnishings. A wide door was open to the evening air and the distinctive scent of the river wafted in, tangled with the perfume of the creeping blooms which wound their tendrils around the white latticework that shielded the Cat's suites from view. Small lanterns covered with pastel-colored shades flickered from the spindly side-tables laden with food and drink. The twins sat on a curved sofa, their thighs pressed together; Morgan reclined easily though Custis sat forward, his shoulders hunched. He watched with wary eyes as a handful of women paraded in at the wordless beckoning of Madame Celine. She lowered herself elegantly into a chair, her elbows propped on the scrolled armrests, her fingers threading together.

"I know what I want," Morgan said and, grinning crookedly, he gave Custis's knee a pat, "but my dear brother is–well, not as experienced as I am."

Custis glared but did not shove Morgan's hand away; in fact, he found its weight and warmth highly reassuring. His gaze drifted over the courtesans, standing there expectantly, reminding him of the Pandyssian slaves who were lucky enough to not be carted off to the silver mines and who were instead auctioned off to serve in the noble homes. Most of the women were healthy-looking, with bright eyes and straight teeth; a few, though, wore heavy layers of make-up to conceal old bruises and the puckered burns from lit cigarettes. Some bore faded tattoos across their shoulders and pale ligature marks on their wrists.

From the corner of his eye, he glimpsed Morgan, whose own eyes were already swollen with desire and glittering with something predatory. Custis smirked and laced his fingers together, mirroring Madame Celine. "Is everything permitted with these whores?" he drawled, casting his eyes over the line of them once more. He felt himself swell in his trousers as their expressions fell, suddenly becoming apprehensive.

Madame Celine pursed her lips thoughtfully. "Most everything," she answered cryptically. "You must understand, my lord, that these women are my livelihood and if anything should happen to them that leaves them unable to work, I will have to charge you extra to make up for what will be lost."

"Money," he answered proudly, his fingers pressing against the pouch at his hip in demonstration, "is no object."

"Then, you may sate yourselves with them as you like."

The twins exchanged a hungry, gleeful glance. "Pick two," Custis said in a low whisper to Morgan, turning at the waist to speak directly against his the shell of his brother's ear. His fingers curled around his knees as Morgan stood and paced along the line of courtesans, one hand resting contemplatively on his hip. He studied their faces, their chests, their backs. Some of the women returned his avaricious gaze but the others dropped their eyes to the floor, their faces only lifting at his insistence. After a time, Morgan snapped his fingers at one and said, "I want you."

Custis studied her with wary eyes: she was slim, her skin, for the most part, unmarked; she wore her long hair in a loose gathering at the nape of her neck, though tendrils had come loose from the frayed ribbon and curled, teasingly, against her cheeks. She had blue eyes, just like that stupid Boyle bitch Morgan was so enamoured with. He now turned to Custis, grinning triumphantly. "Well?"

"You pick one for me," Custis said. "I don't know."

"Dear brother, I want _you_ to pick your whore. I know you've got particular tastes, hmm? Take a look at them; choose one."

Custis wilted beneath the purr of Morgan's words. He didn't know the first thing about picking a whore to take to bed for an hour or two. He stood and examined the courtesans from a distance. Many of them stood straight, their gaze meeting his, as though talk of his inexperience was somehow preferable. Quite a number of the girls were lovely, but they intimidated him. If he chose a lovely girl, he would have to focus his attention on _her_ and not on Morgan, whose side he did not want to leave at all during this visit.

"If I may suggest Sophia, Lord Pendleton," Celine offered softly, gesturing airily. Custis followed the sweep of her long fingers. Sophia was plain, with lank dark hair, and eyes that squinted as though unable to focus even in the mellow light. Her skin was marked the waxy mess of a large burn on her thigh. The kohl around her eyes was heavy and her blush was smeared in unflattering slants on either doughy cheek.

"Why _her_?" Custis sneered, daring to step closer to her as though to appraise a cut of meat on a slab. She smiled, as if to entice him; her teeth were small and yellow, like a rat's.

"Sophia is a favourite with new clients. She is very patient, my lord, and she is very eager to please."

He looked to Morgan. "What do you think?" he asked.

"'Eager to please' can only be a good thing, Custis."

"Fine," he sighed, scowling. "I'll have her."

The madam inclined her head. "Marlene, Sophia, take the Lords Pendleton upstairs to the Smoking Room." She stood, her joints creaking. "It's a very opulent suite, my lords, but if you wish, the Ivory Room is also available for you tonight. Would you like to use the baths downstairs as well?"

"Perhaps afterwards," Morgan said, cocking his head and appraising the two whores who stepped forward obediently at their mistress's request. He reached for Marlene's waist, drawing her close against him; she splayed one hand on his chest and offered him a practiced smile. "Come on, Custis."

Sophia, choked in a cloud of sour perfume, reached for Custis's hand. He let himself be led first from the parlour with his brother and Marlene in tow. Only once did he look over his shoulder, that constant childish fear of being without his other half suddenly gripping him. Morgan, his fingers digging possessively into his whore's hip, flashed him a delighted grin. Custis limply mimicked him.

The Smoking Room was furnished in pinks and reds and purples, with plush sofas that carried within their cushions the overpowering scent of layers and layers of fragrant smoke and thick drapes pulled tightly shut over the windows. A tall, thin hookah crafted from moulded glass rested on a low table; several boxes of imported cigars lay, strewn in styled disarray, on the side-table. At the urging of their respective whores, Morgan and Custis sat, the former sprawling over a wide round couch, the latter pressing himself stiffly against the soft cushions of a sofa.

"Cigars, m'lords?" Sophia asked, already taking up two from a carved box and clipping their ends. She passed one to Marlene and then returned to Custis and knelt at his feet, a thick Cullero held invitingly between her thumb and forefinger. He, suddenly breathless, leant forward to take it between his teeth. She followed with a tarnished silver lighter, her eyes watching him through the wavering flame. He puffed heavily on the cigar, relishing the smooth taste of aromatic leaves on his tongue, and then leant back against the sofa. She looked expectantly to him and he beckoned her to him with a bend of his finger; she perched on his knee, not quite allowing herself to lean against him.

From where he sat, Morgan watched and laughed. "That wasn't so hard, was it?" he drawled, turning his face from the sight of his brother only to accept the proffered cigar from Marlene. She readily sat on his lap, looping her arms around his neck and kissing softly at his ear.

Custis idly brushed the back of his knuckles over the smooth swell of Sophia's hip but his attention was focused fully on Morgan, who reclined and allowed Marlene to slip her hand to his groin, rubbing teasingly. Cigar braced between his fingers, he dragged at his whore with his free hand. She giggled. The sight of his brother allowing himself to be pawed at by some lowly slut made Custis nauseous, for reasons he didn't quite understand. He tensed, snarling, and didn't notice the thick wad of ash which crumbled from the end of his cigar onto the sofa, where it burned a black hole into the upholstery.

"I think my brother wants a kiss," Morgan declared with a grin, tilting his head so as to look at Custis over Marlene's shoulder. "What do you say, my dear?"

Sophia simpered. "It would be my _pleasure_ to give Lord Pendleton a kiss." She gently took his cigar and set it in an enamelled dish on the side-table. Custis's hands pressed flush against the sofa cushion as she drew herself up onto his lap and cupped his cheek. Slowly, she leant in. The heat of her was sticky and foul but Custis allowed her to press her lips to his.

Across the room, Morgan scoffed and said, "You look as if you're kissing that old dog, _Wallace_. Kiss her _properly_, Custis."

One dark, deep-set eye cracked open. Morgan had abandoned his whore for the moment and watched his twin intently. Custis felt himself redden beneath the scrutiny of his mirror-image. Still, he did not want to ignore Morgan's direction. He sat up, pressing his chest flush against Sophia's, and parted his lips for her. She hummed, pleased, and slid her tongue into his mouth. Almost immediately, he jerked his head back. She tasted of bitter whiskey and stale tobacco. He swiped the back of his hand across his mouth, scowling.

She laughed. "Is Lord Pendleton _embarrassed_?" she cooed, cupping his chin affectionately. "He kisses _very_ well, you know."

"That's because he's watched _me_," Morgan said. "Again," he drawled, waving her on.

Sophia bent her head and kissed Custis much more firmly than before, her tongue darting sharply into his mouth, pressing thickly against his own. She grasped at the nape of his neck and he shuddered as her other hand pressed down against the straining shape of his cock.

"Harder, Custis," Morgan urged. "_Bite_ her."

The order from his brother made him shudder anew. He obeyed, his teeth coming down on her tongue, then her lower lip. She squealed and flinched and he pressed his tongue against hers, her teeth, catching the distinctive taste of iron and salt. It spurred him to grasp at her but she pulled back, hastily swiping away the glistening slick of blood and saliva which shone on her lips and chin.

"_That's_ it," Morgan said, smiling wickedly.

Custis pinched her chin between thumb and forefinger and squeezed. "Did you like that?" he breathed, baring red-smeared teeth to her. His eyes slid imperceptibly to Morgan, who returned the gaze with equal hunger.

The light of sultry confidence had gone out of Sophia's eyes and he could see that she was suddenly frightened, though she did her best to mask it. "I had no idea you were so _hungry_, Lord Pendleton," she answered, smiling a thin smile which did not reach her eyes. She blotted blood and saliva from his lower lip with the pads of her fingers. Over her shoulder, she looked to Morgan and his whore; Marlene had already pulled the fine cravat from around his neck and now laid light kisses to the taut column of his throat.

"Come, Lord Pendleton," Sophia said, taking his hand once more. "Your brother needs his privacy, I think."

Custis watched, mesmerized, by Morgan's skill: his fingers pulled expertly on the fine webbing of the courtesan's corset, opening it and tossing it aside, baring her breasts to his avaricious eyes. In turn, she knelt and pressed her palms flush against his inner thighs. Her back was lithe, curved like the stem of a young plant. The hollows at the base of her spine were visible, as were the ridges of her vertebrae. Custis found himself disgustedly entranced by the tactile sight; he suddenly wondered how her back would feel contorted and twisted beneath his hand. Morgan, paying no attention to him, whispered something to her, his eyes glittering darkly, and she simply inclined her head obediently, her fingers already opening his trousers, reaching in to the dark sliver of finely-tailored cloth–

"No," Custis said, shaking his head. He wrenched his hand out of Sophia's. "I want to stay here."

She traced his yearning gaze and laughed. "_Oh_, I see," she purred. "Do you need your brother's approval?" she asked, her head cocked to the side. "Or… do you need him to get you started?" she added, pitching her voice a little lower. The corners of her mouth turned up as if in triumph. "Everyone has their quirks, my lord, and I am here to accommodate you in any way I can. Believe me, you're not the first who needs a little, ah, _help_."

"How dare you?" Custis breathed, incredulous, giving her a shove backwards.

Sophia merely laughed, those ugly yellow teeth flashing from behind her lips. "If it will make it easier for you, you can _both_ fuck me. Together. I've never fucked a pair of twins before but I do love being _filled_ up, _split_ open…" She gave a low, breathy moan, as if overcome, and laid a hand to his cock once more, stroking him with practiced fingers through his trousers. He twitched in her hot grasp. "Two _big_, thick cocks," she continued, her voice cracking with false desire, "what more could a girl ask for?"

He lashed out and smacked her, the crack of his palm against her cheek hot and sharp. "How _dare_ you?" he barked. He hit her again, across the mouth, his rings splitting her lip with a bright spurt of red. She staggered backwards, begging, her hands raised in placation. His entire body thrumming with fury, he lunged and seized her by the throat. He could feel the knot of her trachea pushing pitifully against his palm as she struggled for air. His other hand tangled in her hair, his fingers twisting and pulling tightly on her scalp. He leaned in to hiss at her. "How _dare_ you – _you_, a lowly, _filthy_ slut – speak to _me_ like that? I'm Lord Custis Pendleton!"

A broken cry wheezed from between her lips. She could only wag her head.

"Get out," Custis snarled, throwing her from him. "Get _out_!" She fell against the wall, hunched, trembling. He bared his teeth and lunged at her again, hitting her until his shoulder burned and his hand was numb. Sobbing, she ran from the suite, stumbling in her terror. He slammed the door shut after her, his shoulders heaving beneath the fine cut of his coat. He rubbed gently at his wrist, which ached.

Morgan had watched the entire scene from the sofa, even as Marlene had freed his cock and taken it into her mouth with practiced ease. His fingers were twisted in her hair, steadying the rhythmic bobbing of her head, but now he gave her a nudge in the belly with the toe of his shoe and she crawled away, her lips shining and swollen. He stood, the slick, ruddy head of his cock peeking out of his trousers, and went to Custis. Laying a comradely hand on his twin's shoulder, he said, "What happened there?"

Custis jumped at the sudden closeness of his brother. He turned his head, his eyes wide and overbright. "You should have heard her," he breathed, his voice shaking with his own incredulity. His hand sought Morgan's hip, the familiarity of his twin's body calming and comforting. "The way she spoke to me – it was absolutely _disgusting_," he continued, his features tightening. Something panicked gleamed in his eyes as he looked to Morgan. "Are all the whores here so badly behaved?"

"I doubt it," Morgan said with an easy smile. He looked at Marlene over his shoulder. "_She's_ very obedient." He spoke against the shell of Custis's ear, his breath hot, his voice laced with sinful promise: "Do you want to watch me fuck her? I'm sure we could put on a nice show for you."

Custis was breathless, his fingers digging possessively into Morgan's hip. He nodded weakly. "Let's go to the other room. This one is too suffocating, I can barely breathe." They walked arm-in-arm through the wide, spacious viscera of the bath house. Women loitered, draped over low sofas or leaning teasingly against the walls. Watchmen and noblemen alike delighted in the carnal excess. Nearer to the river, in a corner shielded with ornate folding screens, came the heavenly strumming of a harp.

Morgan slipped an arm around Custis's waist. "You're shaking," he remarked.

Custis found himself leaning desperately into his brother's touch. "I still can't believe how that bitch spoke to me. So _disrespectful_. I should have asked for a strop to give her a good hiding!" His eyes darted, frantically, from face to face as they crossed through the Cat's great rotunda.

"Think nothing of it," Morgan said soothingly, reaching up to brush his fingers against Custis's nape. "Perhaps it's a good thing you let her go intact. I wouldn't want our first visit to be so colored. You'll have your chance to punish her next time."

At that, Custis smirked.

Marlene let them into the Ivory Room, which was styled in pastel lacquer and pale panelling. A large glazed vase held an armful of white lilies, their heavy heads bowed beneath the weight of their perfume. Through the windows, the evening sky was a dusky purple. The bed was large and round, easily accommodating three or four bodies; its covers were a bright red, like a satin sheet of blood, and several plush cushions rested in styled disarray against the carved headboard. From a music player on the side-table came the slow, sweet pull of violin strings, though Marlene switched the device off at Custis's command. Now, the only sound was the rush of the Wrenhaven outside and the distant screaming and squealing from the bath house's other suites.

At Morgan's insistence, Custis shrugged out of his coat and unknotted his cravat. He sat on a squat couch pressed against the wall, his body thrumming anew. He watched as Morgan snapped his fingers and the whore moved to him like a dog at its master's signal; she undressed him slowly, as if mindful of Custis's hungry eyes on them. She stripped away Morgan's waistcoat and silken shirt and dragged down his trousers and his hose.

Nude, Morgan was magnificent. His muscles were long and lean, his shoulders broad. There was a light dusting of dark hair on his chest and a narrow arrow of hair trailing from his navel to his cock. It was this arrow that the courtesan followed with her fingers, smiling coyly. With a low, animal snarl, he turned her around and bent her over the bed. She wore nothing beneath her short, tight skirt and he spread her thighs before taking his cock in his hand and pushing himself inside her.

"_Oh_, Lord Pendleton," she breathed, her back arching deeply. Her fingers twisted in the bedclothes.

Custis's back arched too, his cock straining painfully inside his trousers. He let go of a ragged sigh and watched, entranced, as Morgan set a sharp, quick pace, one knee braced on the bed. His thighs, well-muscled from years spent riding across the Pendleton country estate, clenched and unclenched, his back rolling with smooth undulations. The courtesan moaned and gasped as she had been taught to do to please her clients. Morgan's fingers grasped tightly at her hips, pulling her into every deep, avaricious thrust. "Are you watching, dear brother?" he asked, grinning though his voice strained with exertion. "_This_ is how you fuck a whore."

Custis had no breath in his lungs for a reply. He could only watch and squirm, his cock so hot and heavy in his trousers.

Marlene was pliant as Morgan twisted her hair around his hand and pulled, bending her neck back as though she were an animal to be leashed. Her body completely at his mercy, he hunched forward and bit her neck, her shoulders, grasped her breast, pushed his tongue into her mouth and kissed her as though he wanted to devour her.

At length, Morgan's body began to glisten with sweat. It beaded his forehead and slid down his cheeks. He urged Marlene onto her back on the bed – Custis just catching a glimpse of her cunt, pink and shining like a succulent split fruit – before he pressed himself down on her, one hand wrapping tightly around her throat, the other pushing her leg back at the knee. Custis watched as his twin speared the courtesan with such violence that she writhed, the blue of her eyes just visible beneath the pained fluttering of her lashes. He squeezed her neck as though he wanted to squeeze the life right out of her. His pace grew erratic, his groans coming loudly through his teeth; Custis felt his own body twitch and grow warm in sympathy. Morgan stilled with a wild shout, his hips pressed to hers in finality. He snarled and cursed in the storm of orgasm; his body heaved with a few final involuntary spasms and then he sighed, shoulders slumping.

When he lifted his hand from her throat, she gasped, her body twitching in a desperate bid for life. Still, she was smart enough not to throw him off her immediately: she allowed him to press his brow to her neck, his breath blowing hot and wet against her skin, and to remain inside her even as he began to soften. When he finally moved away from her, it was to roll onto his back, his cock still thick and flushed and wilting against his thigh. He propped himself up on an elbow and stared at Custis, who was red-faced, one hand surreptitiously pressed to his groin.

Tossing his head to throw away a sweaty lick of untidy hair, Morgan said, "It looks like you're done being a spectator." He laid one heavy hand on Marlene's hip, leaning in close to her. "Help my brother undress, would you? I think he's ready to fuck you now, honey." In a low, teasing stage-whisper, he added, "Be gentle with him, hmm?"

"As you wish, my lord." She slowly closed her legs and stood, tidying the wanton dishevelling of her skirt and the ragged garter around her thigh. She came to Custis with the thick glisten of Morgan's semen trailing down the inside of her leg, its scent sharp and mildly nauseating in the invisible cloud of perfume and sweat and sex which hung over the bed, pressing itself into the corners of the suite.

Marlene stroked lightly at Custis's cheeks and then bent to unbutton his waistcoat. He reached for her hips though his eyes sought Morgan's languorous form stretched out on the bed. At her urging, Custis stood and allowed her to pull his shirt from the waist of his trousers; her fingertips brushed his stomach, making him jump and flinch, but she smiled sweetly and raised herself up to kiss him, stoking his desire with soft presses of her tongue. Custis only tasted Morgan. He laid his hand on her throat, his fingers finding the deep impressions Morgan's had left, his nails fitting easily into the crescent moons Morgan's had cut into her flesh.

"Good boy," Morgan purred from the bed, now sitting up to watch his twin with eyes made wide by new desire. "They like it when you choke them."

Custis snarled softly at the mocking encouragement. _Good boy_. The words, and Morgan's tone, reminded him too much of Esma Boyle, training her new young lover like a young hound. "Stop it," he hissed, his fingers closing tightly around Marlene's throat in his anger.

Morgan merely smirked.

Custis focused his attention on the whore, who reeked ineffably of Morgan's sweat. It was warm and salty and Custis, laying his hands on her waist as though to hold her in place, bent his head to the smooth slope where her neck met her shoulder. He trailed his lips there and then followed with tentative passes of his tongue, gathering the lingering taste of his brother with growing hunger. The smell of his twin was hypnotizing and heady and deeply twisted in the more immediate scents of perfume and powder. Custis felt a strange thrill as he pressed his nose to Marlene's skin, inhaling deeply, chasing the ephemeral impression of his brother like a predator chasing its prey.

"Oh, for _fuck's_ sake, we're not paying these exorbitant fees so you can _smell_ her. Fuck her already, Custis, or else I'll have a second go," Morgan drawled from the bed.

Custis's head snapped up. He could only nod as he watched Morgan lazily stroke himself. He looked to the whore, with her lipstick smeared at the corner of her mouth and the bruise-colored shadows under her eyes, and then took one of her hands by the wrist and laid it against the straining shape of his erection. "Undress me," he ordered in a low voice, and she obeyed with a bob of her head, her fingers plucking expertly at the fasteners of his trousers. She reached in to grasp him and gave the length of his cock one long, firm pull, before she dragged the rest of his clothes from his body.

The two living reflections regarded one another in their nudity. Only a small pale scar on the lower right side of Custis's abdomen – a remnant from emergency surgery a few years ago – seemed to differentiate them, and it was this scar that Custis hid behind his hand, so ashamed and hateful of this permanent reminder that he and Morgan were made distinct by something so minute.

"Come here, my dear," Morgan said, patting the expanse of rumpled bedclothes beside him. Marlene moved to him, her thin hips swaying invitingly. She perched on the edge of the bed and he leant across to speak against the shell of her ear, something Custis did not hear. He understood well enough, though, when Marlene shifted back and spread her legs for him. Her cunt opened to him, the wet and succulent fruit that Morgan had already ravaged and left like a half-finished meal. Still, the sight of it stirred Custis, as did the glisten of his twin's semen smeared between her inner thighs. This whore was just one of many things they shared, that they _would_ share; she, tainted so irrevocably by Morgan, would allow Custis to get closer to his twin than he had been in years.

"Please fuck me, Lord Pendleton," she cooed, throwing back her head. A long tendril of hair coiled at her bare breast, and Morgan gently brushed it away with his fingers before seizing a fistful of hair and wrenching her head back, baring her throat to Custis as though he were a beast that needed to be tempted with such a fragile offering. Her spine stiffened, eyes squeezing shut, but she kept her legs open even as Custis mounted the bed and shuffled towards her. Kneeling between her legs, he trailed one uncertain hand from her calf to her hip. She whimpered her encouragement, her hips tilting towards him.

"Bite her, Custis," Morgan snarled, his fingers tightening in her hair. "Mark her. She's _your _whore."

"Yes," Marlene breathed, nodding weakly. Her voice was edged with unshed tears. "Please, Lord Pendleton."

Custis reared over her, bracing himself on his arms on either side of her. He bowed his head to her exposed throat and bit down, hard, pulling sharply with his teeth as though he wanted to tear chunks from her. She hissed and writhed but Morgan's hand held her and Custis's weight trapped her. He bit her neck again, more ravenously than before, as the familiar taste of Morgan melted on his tongue. His teeth left hot, wet indentations along her throat, across her collarbones, on her breasts. She squealed and convulsed with each brand of the angry red arches on her skin.

Morgan now laid a heavy hand on his brother's hip. Custis jumped beneath the sudden touch but Morgan's soothing voice was at his ear, a low, sinful purr: "Fuck her, Custis. Look how she's spread open. I made her nice and wet for you."

Custis grasped at her thighs, dragging her lower body towards his. He pushed at her, his cock sliding inexpertly against her, before she dared to reach down and guide him inside her in one smooth stroke. He groaned as she enveloped him, as the heat and wetness that Morgan had stirred inside her clenched at him. He gave one stuttering jerk of his hips and she cried out with desperate false passion. He withdrew, his arms trembling with the burden of his own weight, and jabbed forward again, sharply, eliciting a disingenuous mewl from the whore's painted lips.

"Harder," Morgan ordered, his hand still on his twin's hip, pushing and pulling so as to set a steady rhythm. "_Harder_," he repeated, grinning as Custis did his best to obey, throwing his weight behind each broken thrust, moaning as he felt her strain with each full press of his cock inside her. Marlene reached for his shoulder, her weight still braced on one elbow, and wrapped her legs around his waist. Custis's back hunched beneath her stifling touch. He snarled and lashed out, slapping her across the ear. She cried out again, more fearfully than before, her lips pulled taut as though in agony.

"That's it," Morgan whispered wickedly, "hit her. Tell her what a filthy bitch she is."

"You're disgusting," Custis hissed. "A fucking _slut_."

"Yes, Lord Pendleton, I am," she whimpered, wincing as Custis bore down on her with newfound ferocity, his fingernails cutting into her thighs, his hips sharply pinning hers to the bed with each violent thrust. She flinched as Morgan pinched at her chin, wrenching her face to his, and kissed her; he pushed his tongue into her mouth, moaning low in his throat. He broke away only to bite at her lips, and Custis took his chance to kiss her in turn, with atavistic desperation. When she tentatively pressed her fingers to his jaw, he jerked his head back and cracked his palm against her cheek, growling. "Don't _touch_ me," he barked.

At length, he bowed his head and closed his eyes, his vicious pace coming undone as he exacted his pleasure from her cunt. He moaned, long and low, as he stabbed into her with uneven, shuddering thrusts. Despite himself, his hands clutched desperately at her as he pressed her down into the bed and laid himself on top of her. At once, his world was reduced to a warm body contorted beneath his, the slimy second skin of his sweat, and the familiar scent of Morgan; it spurred him.

Morgan, sensing his twin was close to orgasm, urged him on, whispering his encouragement and helping to steady the erratic rhythm of his hips. Custis suddenly tensed and blindly reached for a fistful of Marlene's hair, raising his sweat-slicked body from hers. "You _fucking_ whore," he hissed, his voice trembling, his teeth bared, "you _lowly _little bitch, I know _just_ how you want to receive me." His back rolled as he pulled out of her and, with a sharp jerk of his arm, he lifted her upper body from the bed. She hastily bent at the waist, reached for his hips, and took him into her mouth. He groaned through his teeth as he twitched and spurted against her tongue, which lapped at him with warm, languid strokes.

Marlene waited until he let go of her hair before she released him from between her lips, shivering. Custis, still rearing over her, gasped as though he were drowning. Beads of sweat slid down his cheeks, his neck, his chest. His spine curled. He looked down at her, studied the shining of her lips and the reddening of her cheeks and the defeated relief in her eyes as she realized her ordeal was over. He glanced at his own cock, still thick and flushed, glistening with her saliva. He then looked to Morgan, who smiled wickedly and laughed and gave an approving nod; Custis mirrored his brother's cruel smile.

They lounged on the bed, two sated beasts so comfortable in their twinned nudity, and Marlene fetched a tray of glacé fruits and effervescent wine, a celebratory treat to pass the time whilst two baths were prepared for them. When they were eventually led downstairs, gone were the luxurious and rich furnishings that had so enticed them upon first crossing the Golden Cat's threshold, replaced by cool marble and smooth stone and tiled mosaics. Two half-nude courtesans frolicked in a shallow pool, large glittering fish twisting around their ankles, while an older aristocrat – one of their Father's peers – watched, his fingers curled around his cock which jutted from his open trousers. The water rippled and swirled, casting hazy lights on the low ceiling. Pipes groaned in unseen nests in the ceiling, funnelling hot, sticky steam into the various closed rooms.

Marlene tended to Morgan (it was already clear she was going to be his favourite) and Custis chose another whore to round off the evening: Beatrice, tall and strong-looking, who was, Madame Celine had quietly confided to him, a favourite with clients who were not averse to relinquishing control. The twins reclined in the hot water, two separate pools carved side-by-side out of the huge slab of imported Tyvian marble. Morgan threw back his head and sighed as Marlene massaged expensive bath oils into his skin and raked her fingers through his hair; a sweating glass of effervescent wine was at his elbow. Custis sipped quietly from his own glass, already half-drunk, while Beatrice kneaded firmly at his shoulders, her thick-thighed legs open on either side of him. He found himself leaning back against her, comforted by the rough skin of her palms and the marriage in his mind of the sight of Morgan, naked and wet and relaxed, and the strange, masculine streak an unseen Beatrice exuded with her firm touch.

After, their whores dressed them and walked them to the front, where Madame Celine waited, a patient smile on her lips. They were both drunk, leaning against one another for support, their eyes bleary and cracked through with red. Custis fumbled for the money pouch at his hip and emptied the entire thing into Celine's waiting hand without her prompting. She understood well enough, though, with a quick glance to Marlene, her skin marred by marbled bruises and bright red bite-marks. Behind her, pressed against the wall, Sophia trembled and sniffled, her lower lip swollen and crusted with dried blood.

"I hear that you did not enjoy Sophia's company, my lord," Celine said smoothly. She inclined her head. "I apologize for any distress she caused you."

"She's fucking _disgusting_," Custis snapped, snarling. "You would do well to put her out on her ass in the _street_." His hand grasping fistfuls of Morgan's coat at the small of his back, he added in a low, slurred whisper, "I want Beatrice, _every_ time I come here. Can you arrange that?"

"Of course, my lord. I'm certain Beatrice would be more than happy to tend to you."

"Good."

"Have a good evening, my lords. I expect we'll see you again very soon," Celine added with a small bow and a practiced smile.

The twins staggered out to the railcar beneath the luminescent wash of the full moon overhead. Lanterns strung throughout the Cat's gardens cast warm haloes of light over the neat, idyllic space. A handful of whores lingered near the curlicued gates, smoking, chatting up some idle Watchmen. They dispersed, however, as the Pendleton twins staggered into view, their damp hair curling against their foreheads, their cheeks red with drink. Their footman, who had waited patiently beside the railcar, gave a low bow and swiftly opened the car door. Morgan threw himself onto the plush seat and Custis followed, pressing himself closely to his brother's side. They did not speak as the car jerked into life, sparks showering into view as it slid along the rails, but instead exchanged secretive, contented glances which stood in place of words, as they had done when they were younger, and it sufficed.


End file.
